


You Are My Peace, You Are My Prayer

by destielsdessert



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hugs, Hurt Ian Gallagher, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mugging, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Sweet Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielsdessert/pseuds/destielsdessert
Summary: The one where Ian is mugged on the way home from work.





	You Are My Peace, You Are My Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> oh lord, what is this?

Mickey is trying not to overreact, but it's hard when Ian said he'd be home almost an hour ago and he's nowhere to be seen. He's mentally recalling the past couple of days, trying to figure out if Ian has been acting different, if Mickey has missed any signs but he knows he hasn't, he knows that for a _fact_. But that doesn't explain why Ian isn't here when he should be and Mickey is panicking, okay? He's panicking because he's been calling Ian for the past fifteen minutes and it's ringing but he isn't picking up and he knows that Ian isn't stupid enough to ignore a call at this time.

So he's sat on the couch, stuck between staring at the door and staring at his phone, waiting for the text or call that he's sure isn't going to come at this point. If Ian was going to call, surely he would've by now? He scrolls through his messages, wincing internally at the lack of replies from the past half hour and the fact that none of his messages have even been read.

Mickey runs a hand through his hair, leg bouncing in anticipation. He's so close to leaving to begin searching for Ian somewhere, anywhere that doesn't leave Mickey feeling like he's just waiting for bad news, for someone to come and say _Ian is gone_. But there's still a part of him nagging him in the back of his head that he's overreacting, that he's taking this way too seriously and Ian is just running late because he got held up at work or something.

_Except Ian always tells you when he's going to be late home because he knows how much you worry_.

" _Fuck_ ," Mickey mutters to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. He's holding onto his phone so tightly that he's afraid it's going to shatter but he can't find the strength to let it go (ironically). He doesn't want to be worrying so much; he wants to be able to trust Ian and he _does_ , he trusts him more than he fucking trusts anybody but they've talked about this, they've talked about limits and boundaries and Ian knows not to do this and Mickey knows that he wouldn't be deliberately ignoring him. That just fuels the idea that something bad has happened.

It's when Mickey decides _fuck it_ , he's going to call Lip and find out if Ian is at the Gallagher household (without care that he might be raising suspicion) that he hears keys in the door and he jumps up, heart pounding. The door opens and it's like everything is happening in slow motion because that's _Ian_ and Mickey can finally breathe. He stares as Ian trudges inside, seeming a bit deflated and Mickey is torn between yelling at him and kissing him so hard they both forget their own names, but then he catches sight of Ian's face and he freezes, his own face hardening.

Ian catches his eye for a second before quickly averting his gaze. "Leave it, Mick," he warns but his voice is so weak and quiet that it doesn't hold the bite it's probably supposed to, and Mickey's mouth opens and closes because he can't find the words, "it's nothing."

Ian moves past him for the bathroom and Mickey's mind is racing because Ian has a black eye and his lip is bleeding and he just doesn't understand. After a few seconds of standing there like an idiot, Mickey finally finds the self-control he needs to turn around and follow Ian. The bathroom door is closed but isn't locked, and Mickey doesn't knock before pushing the door open because Ian has some fucking explaining to do.

He finds Ian with his jacket discarded on the floor, holding his t-shirt up as he stares at himself in the mirror. Mickey narrows his eyes, looking at what Ian's looking at and his heart almost stops; Ian's entire abdomen is beaten and bruised, there's barely any clear skin visible and Mickey immediately feels the rage begin to burn inside of him.

Ian notices Mickey's presence and immediately drops his shirt, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Mickey steps inside, moving closer. "What the _fuck_ happened?" he demands, ignoring the way Ian flinches at his tone.

"I..." Ian begins but his voice seems to get caught in his throat. Mickey tightens his jaw, staring at Ian's glistening eyes. "A few guys; they, uh- they mugged me, Mick. Fuck, I know I should've called you so you wouldn't worry but they took my phone and I had no way to get hold of you. I'm sorry."

Ian's voice is trembling and it's just fueling Mickey's anger. His hands ball into fists by his sides and he's trying to push his fury down but how can he when someone attacked Ian not even an hour ago and he wasn't there to stop it? Ian was alone and probably fucking terrified and Mickey was at home, getting pissed at Ian for not saying where he was. Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling shakily. "Who did it? What'd they look like?"

"Mick-"

"Ian, you tell me who the fuck it was and I swear to god, I'll fucking-"

" _Mickey_."

It's the way Ian's voice breaks that snaps Mickey out of it. His chest is heaving and he lifts his gaze to meet Ian's eyes, heart breaking at the sight. The look on Ian's face reminds Mickey of that of a child who's just woken after a terrifying nightmare as they wake their parents up in the middle of the night, and it's killing Mickey, ripping his heart to shreds from the inside out. "Fuck, c'mere," he says and he steps forward, pulling Ian's head down onto his shoulder and Ian's reaction is instant as he curls his arms around Mickey, bunching Mickey's sweater up in his hands. Ian is shuddering in his grip and Mickey realises he's fucking crying and his stomach is twisting and turning with guilt and anger and everything that he wishes he didn't have to feel; he pushes it all down, though, because he has to focus on _Ian_ and what _Ian_ is going through right now. "Hey, you're okay," he whispers, nuzzling his nose against the side of Ian's head. "Don't cry, please don't cry."

That just makes Ian cry harder, and Mickey wants to tighten his grip on him but he doesn't want to hurt him. He resorts to rubbing circles against Ian's back and he hopes it's soothing but Ian probably couldn't care less, probably only cares about the pain radiating through him from the bruises littering half his body and the memories of what happened to him that are likely racing through his mind. "Sssh," Mickey hushes him, lifting one hand to Ian's hair and tangling his fingers in the ginger locks to massage Ian's scalp.

Mickey feels useless, so, _so_ useless. He can't think of anything to do or say to make any of this better and he hates that. He hates that he couldn't - didn't - stop this from happening. He hates that he can't do anything to fix it. And he hates that he can't even begin to imagine what Ian is going through right now. Sure, he's been in countless fights - they _both_ have. But he's never been ambushed in the early hours of the morning by people he doesn't know for the sole purpose of being robbed, of being taken advantage of.

Ian pulls away suddenly, wiping madly at his eyes. "Why am I crying?" he mumbles, mostly to himself and it's joined by a small laugh that's anything but happy. "I've been in fights before - fights that got me beaten up a shit tonne worse than this."

His voice is getting louder and shakier and Mickey bites his lip, trying to figure out the best thing to say. Tears are still dripping down Ian's cheeks, showing no signs of stopping. "Yeah, but you ain't never been attacked by some dicks for no god damn reason," he tries to reason. Anger is beginning to fill him again so he breathes as deeply and slowly as he can, trying to reign it in and focus on Ian.

Ian furrows his eyebrows, looking like he wants to argue but he stays silent.

"Ian," Mickey says, waiting for Ian to look at him before he continues, "you know this wasn't your fault, right?"

He knows the answer immediately when Ian drops his gaze. "I should've been able to stop them," he tries to explain. "Mick, I should've been able to defend myself."

Mickey has to remind himself to fucking _breathe_ to stop himself from freaking out because here Ian is, blaming himself for a bunch of strangers beating him up when there's no way he could've been able to predict it, let alone _protect_ himself. " _Hey_ ," he near yells, grabbing Ian's jaw and forcing him to look at him. Ian's eyes are wide and scared and Mickey might cry if he wasn't so angry. "What happened to you, what those _assholes_ did to you, is _not_ your fault. You were attacked and you were robbed, and nobody coulda expected you to come out on top, alright?"

Ian still doesn't look convinced and there are still tears streaming down his cheeks, but Mickey has gotten through to him as much as he knows he can, at least for now. So he drops the subject, turning his attention to Ian's injuries. "Sit down," he says, motioning for Ian to take a seat on the toilet.

Ian frowns, doing as he's told as he puts the lid for the toilet down and sits. He watches as Mickey grabs a cloth and wets it with warm water before he moves over to stand in between Ian's legs. Like this, he's towering just slightly taller than Ian and Ian has to tilt his head upwards just a little to be able to maintain eye contact. "Looks painful," Mickey says, referring to the bruises littering Ian's torso. Ian just seems to try for a sad smile and Mickey understands that he's not in the mood for talking, so he lifts the cloth to Ian's lip and wipes, trying to be as gentle as he can but Ian still winces. The room fills with silence for a couple of minutes as Mickey clears away the dried blood, and he's taking longer than he cares to admit because he just wants to keep Ian here for a little while more, keep him where it's peaceful and calm and _safe_. Once it becomes clear that Mickey is just wasting time and Ian's brow begins to furrow slightly, Mickey discards the cloth at the side of the sink (he'll deal with it later) and reaches into the cupboard, where they keep a glass and some painkillers, and grabs them. "Here," he says after he fills the glass with water and empties two pills into his hand, "take these."

Ian does so silently, tipping his head back and downing the entire glass and the pills at once. Mickey takes the glass back and puts it next to the cloth and watches as Ian dips his head again. He isn't sure if Ian is deliberately avoiding looking at him or not, but either way, he dips his head and tilts Ian's head upwards with his hand, proceeding to capture Ian's lips in the softest kiss he can manage. It's warm and gentle and everything he thinks they both need right now, and Ian lifts his hands to hold onto Mickey's biceps, grip tight as if he's scared of letting go. Mickey pulls away after a few seconds, resting his forehead against Ian's as he lets his eyes slip shut. "I love you," he whispers, quiet enough that it's clear that it's only for Ian to hear even though they're completely alone. Ian nods, and Mickey knows he means exactly the same but he can't talk because of how close to breaking down he is.

Ian is suddenly pulling Mickey in for the tightest hug he can, clawing desperately at Mickey's back. He isn't crying, which both surprises and relieves Mickey because his heart is struggling to cope and if he hears Ian cry much more, he might actually shatter into pieces. He curves his hand around the nape of Ian's neck to hold him close, and Mickey never wants to let go.

He has to, though, because it's getting late and he's tired as fuck, so he can't even begin to imagine what Ian's feeling like. He steps out from between Ian's legs, saying, "Go get something comfortable to wear."

Ian is still silent as he stands and heads for their bedroom, and once he's alone, Mickey lets himself cry, just for a second. He lets out a small, broken sob, a couple of tears falling and he just quickly wipes them away, willing himself to calm down enough so that Ian won't ask questions and he won't worry. He then follows Ian into the bedroom, finding Ian just pulling on a sweater to match his sweatpants. Mickey pulls off his own sweater and climbs onto the bed on his own side. He lays down first, as he tends to, and waits for Ian to join him.

Normally, Ian likes to be the big spoon. He uses his warmth to surround Mickey almost every night, intertwining their fingers with his nose pressed against Mickey's neck. But tonight he just curls into Mickey's side - wincing at even the slightest movement - and rests his head on Mickey's chest, right where Mickey's heartbeat is. Mickey lifts his hand to Ian's head where he can rub small circles into Ian's temple. It's helping Ian's breathing slowly even out, Mickey notes, though Ian is still trembling against him and Mickey isn't sure if it's from the cold (though Mickey himself isn't cold) or because he's still scared.

The thought of Ian still being scared makes Mickey's heart burn with a mixture of rage and guilt, but he continues to push it down. Now is time for rest, time for Mickey to hold onto Ian and for Ian to hold onto Mickey like their lives depend on it.

Anything else? That can wait for tomorrow.


End file.
